“I think there is,” he said so naïvely that Palla was unable to restrain her gaiety.
“This is a silly conversation,” she said, “––as silly as though I had accepted the cocktail you so thoughtfully suggested. We’re both enjoying each other and we know it.”
“Really!” he exclaimed, brightening.
His boyish relief––everything that this young man said to her––seemed to excite the girl to mirth. Perhaps she had been starved for laughter longer than is good for anybody. Besides, her heart was naturally responsive––opened easily––was easily engaged.
“Of course I’m inclined to like you,” she said, “or I wouldn’t be here lunching with you and talking nonsense instead of houses–––”
“We’ll talk houses!”
“No; we’ll look at them––later.... Do you know it’s a long, long time since I have laughed with a really untroubled heart?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, it isn’t good for a girl. Sadness is a sickness––a physical disorganisation that infects the mind. It makes a strange emotion of love, too, perverting it to that mysticism we call religion––and wasting it.... I suppose you’re rather shocked,” she said smilingly.